Page 4 of Bernadette’s Dashing Doctor (The Bookshop Belles #4)
CHAPTER 4
New Lodgings
T he rooms at the Red Lion were so comfortable, Glynn felt refreshed every morning. He didn’t mind so much that his residence wasn’t available yet, as the food here was good and the people of Hatfield were unfailingly friendly. Except for that one meddlesome girl.
Mr Jackson found him finishing his breakfast, and Glynn invited him to join.
“I’m afraid I can’t stay,” Mr Jackson said, crushing his hat in his hands. The huge man’s brow was sternly creased with worry. “I’ve rejoined the army, and I must be off.”
“Goodness, are we at war again?” Glynn asked, startled. “Who’s it with this time?”
“Napoleon escaped and is raising merry hell,” Jackson said. “It’s all the returned soldiers can talk about. They’re all joining back up as well. Walk with me? I need to talk to you.”
Glynn quickly paid for his meal and followed Mr Jackson back to Mrs Bell’s so he could finish packing. The road was wet from fresh rain and sparkled in the sun.
“I must ask you a favour,” Mr Jackson said, “Would you please look after Louise and Bernadette while I’m gone?”
Glynn pulled up short as they reached Mrs Bell’s door. “That virago?”
Shaun’s eyes rounded in shock. “Who, Louise?”
“No, not her,” they walked in and greeted Mrs Bell, then headed to Shaun’s room where he’d already half-filled a carpet bag. “I mean Miss Bernadette.”
Shaun stopped packing, obviously confused. “She’s a sweet, quiet little mouse.”
“She’s a harridan,” Glynn objected. “Meddling with people and playing with medicines she doesn’t understand.”
Shaun sighed and shoved the last few items into his bag. “I’ve spoken with Mrs Bell, and she’s more than happy for you to have my room. She offered her front room as your consulting room.”
“Until my house is ready?”
Shaun shook his head. “The men repairing the doctor’s house are joining as well. There won’t be any more work done on repairs for a while, unless you’re good at carpentry yourself?”
It hit him then. He wouldn’t have a house or consulting room until this latest skirmish with Napoleon was over. Even then, not all the men would make it back.
Should he be signing back up as well, for that matter? He felt guilty for not wanting to, but he was needed here, especially with Jackson gone.
Added to that fact, he was being paid to remain.
Mrs Bell dabbed a handkerchief to her face as she bid Mr Jackson farewell. He waved them off and closed the front door behind him.
“Lor’ bless and keep him,” Mrs Bell said. “He’s a good man, for all he’s the appetite to go with that big frame.”
Glynn grinned, amused. “He’s praised your cooking any number of times, Mrs Bell. I’m looking forward to sampling it. I’ll bring my things over from the inn in a little while, if that’s all right?” While the rooms at the Red Lion were comfortable, he wouldn’t be sorry to get away from all the hustle and bustle of the busy coaching inn.
“It’s all a little last minute, but I never use this room, and I know Lord Ferndale will pay me a nice rent so you can use it,” Mrs Bell said, opening the door into her front parlour. “I’ve moved a chair in here and a table you can use for a desk.”
“Goodness, it’s perfect, thank you Mrs Bell.” He was impressed with how quickly she’d arranged the room. The table was long enough that somebody could lie on it for examinations or even surgery, just as they’d used for Ned the other day. Glynn could put his medicine cabinet in the corner; the table was a luxury, a proper desk! He’d used his medicine cabinet as a desk during his time in the army.
“Tea?” the midwife asked.
“Thank you, that would be lovely.”
Mrs Bell bustled out and left him alone in the room. There was a charming fireplace that he hoped he might not need to use until autumn. Along one wall was a picture rail where he could hang his certificate. There was also a comfortable couch where his patients could sit while relaying their ailments.
He sat down in the sturdy wooden chair and gazed upon his new consulting room. Satisfaction spread through him. Life was suiting him very well.
Then he looked through the windows and realised he was directly overlooking Baxter’s Fine Books.
He muffled a groan of anguish.
Mr Thomas set the medicine cabinet down where Glynn suggested, then said a polite farewell to him. Glynn thought the brawny man might walk straight back to the Red Lion, but instead he visited the bookshop.
If Mr Thomas had a sore back or shoulder, Glynn could have helped. Instead, he feared the man would ask Bernadette for some kind of healing tea.
The view kept changing as a post carriage arrived with travellers and boxes of goods. Then people would often visit the bookshop for a while, before leaving with packages. He also watched as the occasional townsperson visited the bookshop. To his surprise, one man who’d just walked into the bookshop then walked out only a couple of minutes later, making a bee-line for his consulting room.
Glynn opened the door himself instead of putting Mrs Bell to any trouble, and greeted the man with a friendly smile.
“Miss Bernadette said I should see you,” the man said, “so I came right over. Are you busy?”
“I always have time for the people of Hatfield, Mr, ah?”
“Black, Horace Black, I run the printers, with my brothers.”
“Mr Black, come in,” and he showed him to the room. He opened his ledger and began taking notes. “What’s troubling you today?”
“Well, y’see, it’s me finger. Not sure what I’ve done,” the man said, holding his palm out.
Glynn’s eyebrows shot up so high it stretched his face. “It looks completely flat,” he said, taking in the spade-like end of his index finger.
“Oh, that! No, did that years ago, never came good, but can’t feel it neither so it don’t bother me none. No, it’s the little one on the end here.”
Looking now at the correct finger, Glynn noticed it bent at a strange angle at the knuckle. He gently examined the joint and felt the tell-tale warmth underneath the skin.
“It has all the hallmarks of arthritis,” he delivered the news as calmly as he could. It was hard to guess Mr Black’s age from his weathered face. He could be anywhere from 40 to 60, depending on how much manual labour he’d done over his lifetime. “Any other joints bothering you?” Glynn asked gently.
“Well, now that you mention it, my knees aren’t as good as they used to be.”
Glynn was pleased that Mr Black trusted him for further examination. As the town printer, he would know a great many people, and would spread the word about how the doctor had helped. Alas, there weren’t too many good remedies for arthritis aside from staying warm and resting. Not possible for a man who was on his feet all day.
“Did Miss Bernadette offer you willow bark?” he asked.
“She said Mr Lennox would have some, but to come here and see you first.”
Glynn nodded, and said the words he really didn’t want to say. “Miss Bernadette is right. I’m very glad to see you and let me know if things get any worse.” He grabbed a small piece of paper and wrote down, willow or Jesuit bark for arthritis, drink with tea in the mornings . “Take this to Mr Lennox and let him know I sent you. It’s willow bark, sometimes called Jesuit bark, and you take it steeped in tea. It’s a good remedy for painful joints. If you have it in tea with your breakfast, it should help. I hope it gives you a few hours’ relief. In the mean time, wear a glove on your bad hand and perhaps wrap your knees with scarves to keep them warmer?”
The man nodded and said, “How much do I need to pay?”
“Nothing at all, Mr Black, Lord Ferndale has employed me to serve the people of Hatfield. It may be a few pennies at the apothecary.” He considered telling Mr Black to ask Mr Lennox to put it on Glynn’s account, but looking at the man’s clothes, and considering he owned the printer, decided the man could afford to pay for his own medication.
The man beamed with delight. “Much obliged, and a pleasure to meet you, Doctor!”
As he waved Mr Black off, he saw Miss Bernadette leaving the bookshop with a basket on her arm. Glynn nodded a greeting her way, but she darted off and mustn't have seen him.
Well, he would do as Shaun Jackson had asked and keep an eye on her. It wouldn’t be too difficult since he could see the bookshop door from both his consulting room window and his bedroom window, as he discovered that evening when he made his way upstairs after a good dinner with Mrs Bell.
Over the next week or so, as trade resumed after the Easter Holy Week, several more patients came in to see him. Frustratingly, every single one of them had visited the bookshop first. Glynn supposed he should be grateful that at least Bernadette was sending people over to him, though it did irk him that they were going to her first - everyone must know there was a new doctor in town by now, Mr Black had even put an article about him in the local newspaper! Plenty of people had begun greeting him when he walked down the street, at least; Hatfield seemed to be full of friendly folks. Walking to church the next Sunday morning, Glynn received any number of friendly nods and smiles.
He was a little early for the service, and spied the vicar in his cassock talking to some parishioners outside. Perhaps he should go and make himself known to the clergyman? Their paths would cross regularly after all, at either end of life’s journey for the people of Hatfield.
Glynn hesitated in his step as he saw a familiar, small figure pause in front of the vicar. He didn’t particularly want to get into yet another argument with Miss Bernadette in front of Reverend Millings; he’d heard the clergyman was quite the martinet and had no need to be hauled up for being impolite to a lady, and he’d managed to avoid arguing with Bernadette all week only by dint of keeping a scrupulous distance.
“Reverend Millings,” he heard Bernadette say earnestly, her voice carrying on the light breeze, “may I inquire after your health?”
The vicar looked down his long nose at Bernadette. “I am perfectly well, Miss Baxter. The Lord cares for his own.”
“Well, that is good to hear, sir, only…” Bernadette hesitated. “I cannot help but note that you look a little sallow. A touch of jaundice, perhaps? I have an excellent liver tonic…”
“I want none of your witchcraft, woman!” The vicar’s voice was low, but vehement enough Glynn could make them out clearly.
Glynn frowned. That was no way to speak to a lady. And a liver tonic was not witchcraft; the best ones were simple like radish water and fresh mint, or gooseberries crushed and steeped with basil leaves.
“Good morning, Doctor!” A cheerful voice interrupted his thoughts, and Glynn turned to find Lord Ferndale approaching, his sister Miss Yates on his arm.
“Good morning, my lord.” Glynn bowed. He’d gone to Ferndale Hall to present himself to his new employer before even coming to Hatfield, and had been charmed by the elderly brother and sister. Lord Ferndale was a perceptive, kindly man determined to do good works for his community, and Miss Yates was, Glynn thought, far more clever than her slightly vague, gentle demeanour might suggest. “Miss Yates.” Glynn bowed to her too, and was favoured with a sunny smile and Miss Yates reaching out to take his arm.
“It is so nice to see you again, Dr Williams! Now you must come and sit with Arthur and I in church, mustn’t he, brother?”
“Of course,” Lord Ferndale acquiesced comfortably. “Plenty of room in our pew, and we have a few minutes before service will begin, do tell me how you are getting along. I hear you have opened a consulting room at Mrs Bell’s, and are staying there now that Mr Jackson has gone off to deal with the Corsican again?”
Glynn was not the least bit surprised with how much Lord Ferndale knew already. The man was his employer, and he owed him a great deal. “Mrs Bell has indeed delivered me a great boon,” he said. “Her front room is in a convenient location for the townspeople to find me. I’m keen to hang out a shingle as soon as I can find someone to create one for me.”
“Yes,” Lord Ferndale nodded, opening up his hymn book. “We are short of good craftsmen again. A couple of my gardeners have signed up, too. I could not hold them back from this most valiant cause.”
Guilt pricked at Glynn. “Should I rejoin too? I have served before.”
“Don’t you dare even think about it!” Miss Yates interjected. “Hatfield needs your skills. If anyone dares lure you to another town, send them to me and I’ll give them what for.”
He had to smile at the elderly lady’s vehemence, imagining Miss Yates setting about the miscreant with her reticule.
Just as the service was about to begin, Bernadette and Louise Baxter joined the Ferndale pew. Bernadette hesitated when she saw him, then made a last-second detour to make sure Louise sat directly next to him instead of herself.
Lord Ferndale leaned in and quietly said, “Do try and get along with Miss Bernadette. It will be so much better for all concerned.”
The man missed nothing. Heated embarrassment warmed Glynn’s neck as he realised Lord Ferndale must have seen Bernadette’s diversion. He also figured somebody from the town had probably said something to the baron about their animosity. That his behaviour had reached his employer’s ears felt like a personal failing.
“Of course, my lord,” he said, and added honestly, “I owe her my thanks for sending a steady stream of patients to my door.”
Any residual guilt Glynn felt evaporated at great speed as Reverend Millings launched into his sermon about the evils of disobedient women who thought to step outside their places as servants of men.
It was one of the nastiest sermons he’d ever heard. That it was so soon after Easter had him thinking the goodness of Holy Week had worn off very quickly.
He caught a glimpse of Lord Ferndale’s bowed head. The elderly baron looked in pain and he was grimacing. It would not do to turn his head and stare at others in the congregation, so Glynn couldn’t tell whether others were enjoying or enduring it.
But one thing that was incredibly obvious was the way the reverend deliberately looked towards Louise and Bernadette sitting next to him before launching into an even more pointed tirade about pornographic literature!
It really was getting too much, and it was obvious to anyone with ears that the lesson was deliberately making an example out of the Baxter sisters.
Horribly unfair.
Neither of them deserved such scorn. Why, young Bernadette had only a few minutes earlier kindly offered the vicar a tonic! Looking at the vicar now, the man’s face should have been red from excitement and anger, as he invoked the story of Eve and the apple and temptation. Instead it did have a yellow tinge to it. Was it the man’s liver making him so angry?
By trying to help him, Bernadette had instead made herself a target.
As much as Glynn might personally disagree with her activities, she didn’t deserve to be singled out like this in front of the town.
On the man raved for a painfully long time. When it was eventually time for a hymn, Glynn quietly checked with Louise to see if they were all right.
“He’s been getting worse,” Louise said under the noise of people singing.
It was unfair, not to mention unconscionably rude, and he felt sure others in the town would feel the injustice of the situation. “Please let Miss Bernadette know she was completely correct to offer him a tonic for his liver. He does not look well.”
Bernadette peeked out at him from behind Louise and said, “Thank you,” in a soft little voice.
She looked so small next to her robust sister. Glynn felt a rather peculiar sensation in his chest… was that protectiveness he was feeling?
When the service was mercifully over and they were once again outside and out of view of the vicar, Miss Yates turned to Lord Ferndale and said, “He really exceeded the bounds this week. Arthur, you must speak to him.”
Lord Ferndale sighed and nodded his head reluctantly. “I have put it off for far too long. I kept hoping he’d tamper down the brimstone. Today was too much. He’ll scare people away.”
Glynn didn’t want to eavesdrop, but he was standing very close by. “I’ll second Miss Yates’ suggestion. I’m yet to explore all of Hatfield. Is there a Methodist community here?”
“A small one,” Miss Yates confirmed. “They come to our services and then have a kitchen gathering afterwards, but after this week I can’t imagine they’d want to come back. Are you Methodist, Dr Williams?”
“I was raised in the community,” Glynn admitted. “It’s not just my name that’s Welsh. I grew up in a small fishing village near Pembroke.”
“You don’t have an accent at all!” Miss Yates looked surprised.
“I worked hard to lose it while I was studying.” He left unsaid the fact that it had marked him out; he was common-born and knew it, and among the sons of gentlemen at university he had stuck out like a sore thumb. Learning to mimic their upper-class English accents had enabled him to blend in far better.
Miss Yates nodded before turning back to her brother. “Arthur, please speak with him, he’s not bringing the community together; he’s singling people out for damnation.”
Lord Ferndale’s chin puckered for a moment as he realised he had to do something. “Back in a moment,” he said with a little sigh.
Glynn saw Louise and Bernadette meeting with friends in a small gathering nearby. Each woman embraced Bernadette with comfort and consolation. Mrs Bell was with them, hands on her hips, looking quite furious.
At least they had defenders, Glynn thought. And plenty of customers in the shop, if the number of people in and out of their door every day, most of them carrying purchases as they left, was any guide. He probably should go in himself and see if they carried any medical texts of interest.
“Would you like to come to dinner at Ferndale Hall today, Dr Williams?” Miss Yates asked. “Our carriage will bring you back to town afterwards, of course, with the Miss Baxters.”
He had been opening his mouth to say yes, thinking that a nice dinner at Ferndale Hall with these lovely people would be a pleasure, but closed it again on realising that of course Bernadette would be there. She was considered family. And though he was feeling rather more charitable towards her at this precise moment, he still didn’t quite trust himself to manage to be polite, especially not if she deliberately provoked him again. He didn’t want to be made to look a fool in front of Lord Ferndale.
“You’re very kind,” he said instead. “Perhaps another time.”
Miss Yates gave him a penetrating look, but graciously accepted his declining the invitation and left him to go and join the cluster of women around Louise and Bernadette.